[fic][Star Wars: Republic Commando/Bad Batch, Hunter, Fixer, PG-13] Tie a Knife with a Ribbon

[ajremix]

Well. Didn't expect to post this on May the Fourth but I guess not being in the right mental space for proofing yesterday worked out. Title from A Charming Spell by Splashdown. I'm going to write up a director's commentary type thing for it soon.

Title: Tie a Knife with a Ribbon
Fandom: Star Wars: Republic Commando/Bad Batch
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 13651
Characters: Hunter, Fixer, Clone Force 99, Delta Squad, minor appearance by Phee
Summary: The evolution of a relationship as documented through knives.



1.

After weeks of ambushes, they’d finally managed to turn the tables on the commandos that had been chasing them. Though, if Hunter was being honest, he wasn’t so sure that gave them the upper hand. The commandos’ prior attacks seemed to be geared toward separating someone from the group and taking them out one at a time. They knew how to use Clone Force 99’s abilities and knowledge against them, even accounting for Echo, so the best way to counteract that would’ve been to stay together.

Wrecker, however, had charged after the one in yellow and gray- the one who took Omega -bellowing fury and destruction, not at all realizing he was being lead away. Hunter told Echo to pick a target and keep on him. They couldn’t let either of the other two commandos get to Wrecker.

Hunter had closed the distance on the one with the green markings, opting for hand to hand combat rather than ranged. In hindsight that might not have been the best thing to do as the commando led him into the scaffolding of a construction site and Hunter very quickly lost track of Echo and the orange painted commando.

Not that he had any time to worry about either of them. These commandos weren’t to be taken lightly and Hunter couldn’t help marveling at how easy it was to lose sight of them even with glowing visors. Were he not straining his senses, picking up the slightest sounds of movement or the prickle of the electronics in the commando’s kit, the fight would've been far more difficult.

He lashed out, knife in hand and the edge just skimmed across a pauldron, scarring the armor but doing little else. The commando moved in to strike at Hunter’s mid section but Hunter was just able to block it. They danced around each other, a glancing blow, a dodged kick, sparks flickering whenever their vibroblades met. Neither were able to land a decisive hit and they’d retreat into the shadowed maze of construction, gathering up their energy for another round.

At least Hunter was. The fight was dragging on and beginning to wear down on his endurance, he certainly hoped it was taking as much toll on the commando. He put his back to a partly constructed wall, catching his breath and trying to hear where his opponent had gone. It was the subtle vibration of the scaffolding next to him that alerted Hunter to the commando’s location and he just barely dove out of the way, the commando nearly landing on top of him. Hunter came up swinging his arm around, knife catching the commando in the calf. The durable blacks kept him from cutting too deep but the slash went from just above the greaves toward the knee and began to bead with blood. Hunter grinned at the bitten off curse of pain.

He didn’t have long to bask in his victory, however. The commando lunged in, grabbing and twisting Hunter’s arm. A disabling move. Hunter moved with it, rolling over the commando’s back and just managing to land on his feet. He threw an elbow back, feeling it crack against the commando’s helmet. In turn the commando kicked at Hunter’s knee, the angle not quite right to take him down but enough to make Hunter buckle, unable to dodge or block the kick that came at his side.

The kick wasn’t meant to hurt so much as it was meant to put distance between them and it wasn’t until the commando fell back into an attack stance that Hunter realize he’d stolen the knife right out of Hunter’s hand.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed in his helmet, seething at this turn of events. “I’ll be wanting that back,” he growled out. The commando said nothing in return but flipped Hunter’s knife into a reverse grip, the light catching on the edges of the blades, one in each hand. It felt very much like a non-verbal boast.

Hunter hadn’t wanted to use firearms, especially in such tight quarters where a clear line of sight was near impossible but with no other weapon and the fight decidedly not being in his favor there wasn't much of a choice. Forcing some distance seemed like the smart choice. He flicked his blaster to stun, nearly catching the commando on a quick draw. The commando ducked through crisscrossed piping, keeping obstacles between them as he angled in a charge toward Hunter.

A feint had Hunter shooting high while the commando came at him low. Hunter jumped back from the first swipe and blocked the second with his pistol, cursing to himself as his own knife bit, humming, into the metal. He couldn’t get enough space between them to fire off another shot but the commando had to focus on making sure Hunter couldn’t fire, unable to get in a good attack himself.

Then the commando lunged, overextending on his injured leg and the pain distracted him just for a split second but it was enough for Hunter to twist his arm around, shooting at the injured leg. It buckled under the commando and he went down hard. Before Hunter could fire again, the commando twisted his body, kicking out with his good leg and sending the pistol skittering a few feet across the flooring.

Hunter dove for it, coming up in a roll with his blaster ready and saw the commando pulling himself over the edge of the scaffolding floor, flipping down to the next level. Through the slats of the planks, Hunter watched the commando limping into the closest tangle of shadows and pipes, looking over his shoulder to locate Hunter before disappearing. Just as Hunter dropped to the same level to follow, Echo’s voice called over the comm, “/Hunter, imperial reinforcements are on their way./”

He tsked, taking a moment to get his bearings. “Have you contacted Wrecker?”

“/Yes. I’m heading his way right now. The commandos seemed to have fallen back./”

“Alright. I’ll meet you at the Marauder.” Hunter did one last scan for the commando, then turned and ran toward the ship. It wasn’t until they’d escaped the imperial fleet and entered hyperspace that Hunter realized he’d never gotten his knife back.

2.

None of them were exactly happy with the situation. Certainly they were glad for the return of their missing teammates but having it done by the hands of the same commandos that had been harassing them felt a little bit like being indebted to… well, to someone like Cid. And what happened with her was never going to happen again.

The commandos were known as Delta Squad, Rex had told them after being brought up to date on the situation. Apparently they did some covert ops for Rex’s Jedi though, Rex told them, commandos had been hard to come by. They'd been in high demand and, even with cross trained troops padding out their ranks, their numbers never reached much higher than it did after losing nearly half their number in the opening days of the war. Only a fraction of the original generation of commandos survived and the three remaining Deltas were among them.

Hunter didn’t care. He would’ve been more than happy to take his crew and bug out to the farthest reaches of the galaxy- Wrecker would’ve wanted to get a punch or two in first if he weren’t holding Omega as if someone might try to take her again. But Rex had managed to arrange this exchange personally. Hunter didn’t know how it went down behind the scenes but it didn’t feel right leaving without thanking Rex for his part in this.

But that didn’t mean he was eager to join in whatever little meeting he and Echo were having with Delta Squad’s leader, Boss. Scorch, the one that had taken Omega, was wisely standing with them, especially given the way Wrecker growled every time the commando seemed to look in his- and Omega’s -direction.

So distracted with making sure no one made any potentially aggressive movements in the wrong direction, Hunter was startled when a familiar handle entered his gaze. It was his knife, being offered up in a light grip by Fixer. The very commando who had stolen it in the first place. “You said you wanted it back.”

Hunter’s eyes flickered between the knife and Fixer’s glowing visor, as if wondering if this was some sort of trick. Chiding himself for the foolish thought, Hunter took it and slide his knife back in its sheath. Something seemed to settle in his chest at the familiarity of the motion. “Thanks.”

For a long moment, Fixer just stood there and just as Hunter began to wonder if he should say something Fixer finally said, “I’m sorry.”

That threw him for a loop. “What for?”

“For,” the helmet moved, just slightly, and Hunter was very aware of Omega’s position behind him, “what we put you through.”

Hunter’s back teeth clenched together hard enough to make the muscles in his jaw twitched and he had to consciously loosen them back up. “You’re not the one that needs to apologize for that,” his voice came out harsher and lower than he had intended.

Fixer just shook his head. “Scorch was in that position because we put him in it. If it had been me instead, I would have done the same.” There was a faint sound, like a sigh, and Fixer’s voice was soft and weary and Hunter didn’t know if he’d ever heard someone sound so damn tired. “Things got more complicated than we intended and you got caught up in it. I’m sorry.”

Complicated. Story of his life. Everything had been so simple in the war when all they had to worry about was busting up droids. Then Order 66 happened and Hunter realized that everything had always been complicated, he just hadn’t cared enough to notice.

As much as he hated to admit it, Delta Squad was trying to survive this mess as best they could. And if they thought hunting down rogue clones was the only way they could do that, he couldn't blame them anymore than he did Crosshair.

“So what’s the plan?” Hunter hadn’t really meant to ask but it wouldn’t be a bad thing to know, either.

Fixer’s head moved just a fraction, likely surprised at the question, but he answered all the same. “Find our brother.”

“You think he’s still alive?”

“If anyone could survive this long, it would be Sev.”

An amused noise rumbled in the back of Hunter’s throat. “And after? Going to find a place to settle down and live out the rest of your lives in peace?”

“I suppose it all depends on how the search goes. Some of our training sergeants set up a place for commandos to retire to, but…”

Even in their isolated corner of Tipoca City, they’d heard horror stories about what the commando trainers put their men through. Cross trained commandos didn’t have as rigorous training but neither was it as brutal. “But it’s complicated?”

Fixer gave a little huff that could have been laughter and Hunter couldn’t help the edges of his lips twitching upward at the sound. “Something like that,” he said ruefully.

“There’s a planet we thought about settling on. Small, scattered population, no resources that would put it on the Empire’s radar.”

Fixer shook his head. “Probably best to keep it that way. We worked with some important people with access to highly classified information. I doubt they’ll take our desertion well.”

“So you’re going on the run then?”

“Most likely.” Fixer suddenly straightened, helmet snapping into a position of alert focus and Hunter retroactively realized the commando had been relaxed- or at least less tense -until that moment. Hunter followed his gaze to see the other two Deltas were moving away from Rex and Echo, signaling to get back to their ship.

Before he could stop himself, Hunter reached out and rapped his knuckles against Fixer’s pauldron. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

Fixer paused and Hunter could almost feel his surprise. “You, too,” he eventually said and turned away.

When Hunter inspected his knife- hours later, listening to the hum of the ship, to Wrecker finally sounding like himself again, to AZ puttering about as he looked over his patients, and reveling in the feeling of home -he found it had been newly sharpened, the blade cleaned and oiled until it gleamed.

3.

Fixer was sitting on the ground when Hunter found him, alert but observing everything around him calmly and looking very much not like someone that had been handcuffed and caged. From what Hunter could tell, Fixer’s captors were bounty hunters but of the local variety so their restraints were more on the low tech side. From the quality of weapons and the random items marked with the imperial crest, Hunter guessed they were the kind that turned over runaway clones to the Empire.

They obviously had no idea what they had on their hands because they only gave Fixer minimal attention.

They weren’t really paying attention to anything given how easily Hunter was able to sneak around the back of the cage. “Fixer,” he whispered and the only indication that Fixer heard him was a quick flicker of his eyes, “were you injured?”

“No.” Fixer’s voice was low, deep in his throat. The kind of subvocalization that would only be picked up by a comm that hooked behind the ear or Hunter. “Did Boss send you?”

“No. He seemed confident you’d get out of whatever trouble you might’ve got into on your own.” Boss had also sounded a little hesitant, like he was forcing himself to believe that but Fixer probably didn’t need to know that part. Scorch and Sev had been fairly nonplussed about the situation but they’d also pointedly looked the other way when Hunter made the executive decision to track Fixer down on his own.

Some of the hardness left Fixer’s expression, shoulders lowering. It seemed like relief and it left Hunter baffled. But he shook his head and began to move closer. “Hang tight, I can-”

“No need. I already have a plan. Did you see my helmet?”

“I saw your pack and weapons. Wouldn’t it be with that?”

Fixer shook his head. “I saw a couple of them playing with it. I managed to lock down the HUD before they took it but I’d rather not leave it behind. Do you have any det packs?”

“I have a couple grenades but nothing that can be remotely detonated.”

“You’ll have to get them out of my pack, then. They should be in the left side, grab two just in case.” He nodded toward a construct that could only be called a tent in the broadest sense of the word. It was mostly just tarps and guylines staked down to keep the perpetual misting rain off whatever was inside. “That’s where they set up their comms. Mostly likely they already alerted someone that they captured a clone but we can at least keep them from communicating any further information.”

“I think I can handle that.” Fixer’s things would be a little difficult to get to, having been dumped in front of one of the larger tents but there were only about a dozen bounty hunters and they were mostly focused on settling in for the night. “I’ll grab your rifle and come back here in case one of them manages to be perceptive enough to notice if your pack goes missing.”

Fixer simply nodded, expression as impassive and sharp as ever.

Stealth had always been one of Hunter’s strengths, his enhanced senses locating any nearby guards before he was ever in danger of being spotted. It took just a few minutes for him to complete his task, underbrush barely even rustling in his wake. By the time he’d finished setting up the charges a couple hunters had clustered around Fixer’s cage, jeering. One drew back with a metallic staff held in both hands and cracked the end of it across Fixer’s jaw. The commando took the hit with barely a grunt, expression never changing, waiting with all the patience of a coiled viper.

Then his eyes flickered over and met Hunter’s and, nearly imperceptibly, he nodded. Hunter clicked the detonator and the communication tent exploded.

All the bounty hunters spun around, trying to figure out what was going on. In a flash of movement- quick enough to have been missed with a blink -Fixer twisted his wrists around until he could get part of the binding over his gauntlet and popped the retracted blade, severing the binds. He lunged to the bars of the cage, grabbing a bounty hunter by the back of their shirt, jerking them down to shield him and slashed at the back of another’s knee, taking out tendons and ligaments. When they dropped to the ground, Fixer retracted the blade and shot it forward again as he punched, point sinking into the skull.

The remaining two spun around at their comrade’s shout, halfway through a sprint toward the explosion. They raised their blasters, hesitating at Fixer’s human shield and Hunter took them down with two well placed shots. Fixer slashed his blade across his captive’s throat and fished their blaster from the holster, pressing the muzzle against the lock and shattering it to pieces.

Hunter took off, scooping up Fixer’s pack and angling his path to intercept Fixer’s on the way out. Just before they did, however, Fixer suddenly darted to one side and Hunter got there just in time to see him yanking his helmet off a prone body, the fresh scent of blaster bolt-charred skin and wisps of smoke coming off it. Fixer hooked his helmet to his belt and reattached his pack when Hunter threw it to him. The rest of the would-be captors were made quick work of, the last three Hunter took out with a grenade because they were clustered together, trying to hide behind a parked landspeeder.

After getting back into the thickness of the wilderness, they melted into the shadows, steps slow and careful in case reinforcements were closer than anticipated. They stopped after more than an hour of travel and Hunter strained his senses, trying to pick up any trace that they had company. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fixer holding his side and trying to hide the fact by angling his stance, sweat beading on his brow. It occurred to him that he didn’t know how long Fixer had been caught or when the last time he’d been able to eat, drink or move his legs had been, stuck in that cramped cage that barely allowed him to sit upright.

So Hunter sat on a mossy stump and pulled his canteen out to drink deeply from it. After a moment’s hesitation, Fixer sat as well, taking out his own canteen before Hunter could offer his. “So you could’ve gotten out of there the entire time?” It was more of a statement than a question and Hunter couldn’t help the note of annoyance in his voice.

“I was waiting for a distraction. I appreciate the assistance.” Fixer took another drink and asked, “If Boss didn’t send you after me, then why are you here?”

Hunter was glad he'd taken off his helmet so Fixer could see his look of utter incredulity. “Because you weren’t there,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world because it sort of was.

Fixer looked at him as if he’d said something utterly alien and Hunter abruptly realized that this was the first time he’d seen Fixer- or any Delta -without a helmet and he looked… worn. Gray was beginning to speckle his hair, there were deep lines by his eyes, between his brows and though his eyes were alert there was a bone-deep weariness to them. Not even Rex had seemed so old and Hunter wondered if it was a commando thing or something else. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek, a blow to his nose that didn’t quite look like it had broken anything, new blood on his lip partially covering up an old scar and a long healed notch at the rim of his right ear, like something sharp had taken a slice out of it.

“People don’t usually notice me.” Fixer eventually said.

Hunter snorted. “You kicked my ass and stole my knife. Of course I noticed you. Also you’re the least annoying of your brothers.” Not that he knew Sev at all but he felt that assessment was correct regardless.

That got him that soft almost-laugh again and something in Hunter’s chest warmed to hear it. “I seem to recall you had the upper hand in that fight. I didn’t intend to take off with your knife, sorry about that.”

“But you agree your brothers are annoying?”

This time Fixer’s laugh was clearer and throatier and the warmth fluttered. “I think it’s best if I don’t answer that.”

Then, because Hunter didn’t know if there’d ever be a more appropriate time and because it had been preying on his mind since the camp, he blurted out, “Can I see that blade in your gauntlet?”

Reflexively Fixer looked down at his left hand. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah, but last time I was trying to keep it away from my face.”

There was no denying the truth of that and Fixer released the blade and locked it into place. He shifted on the half exposed root he was sitting on, leaving enough space so Hunter could join him. As he did Hunter stole a glance at Fixer’s side where he’d been holding it earlier. There was a slight scorch mark, the telltale signs of a high powered electrical shock and Hunter realized that was probably what had gotten Fixer. The shield in the first gen commandos’ armor was good for dissipating the kinetic force from energy bolts but a powerful enough electric blast could shred right through it.

He focused on the vibroblade, running the pad of his thumb over the edge and even through the gloves he could feel how sharp it was. It was covered in nicks and scratches but was obviously well cared for. Now that he didn’t have to worry about it stabbing into him, Hunter realized the light he’d seen was the fuller, the groove glowing with the same blue the commandos’ visors did. The blade itself was sturdy and extended further than Hunter realized, about the length of Fixer’s fingers when held straight. He took Fixer’s hand in his, turning it this way and that, examining the blade and what of the mechanism he could that allowed it to retract. Hunter didn’t know when or why they’d stopped being integrated into the Katarn armor, he just lamented the fact that it had been.

It suddenly struck Hunter that Fixer was being very quiet. Even more so than usual and he realized very suddenly that he practically had his fingers intertwined with the commando’s. That awareness didn’t cause him to snatch his hand away but only barely. Instead he slowly pulled back and cleared his voice, feeling embarrassed with himself. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get into your space like that.”

The blade retracted back into the gauntlet. “It’s fine.” The only outward sign that Fixer felt flustered was his gaze hovering somewhere over Hunter’s right shoulder.

“It’s a nice bit of gear.” Hunter winced to himself, his attempts to cover up his awkwardness just making him feel more awkward. “Don’t know why the Kaminoans removed them from the upgraded armor.”

“I can build you one.”

Hunter straightened, surprised by the offer and Fixer seemed just as surprised to have offered. His eyes locked onto Hunter’s for just a moment before lowering to the side in a way Hunter was tempted to call shyly, lips pressing into a line and a flush beginning to darken his cheeks. “It’s not difficult,” he said and Hunter was surprised that Fixer’s voice could be so soft, almost uncertain.

“I don’t want to take up your time.”

“It won’t take long and it just needs some common supplies. The only thing I don’t have on hand is the blade itself but it’d be easy for you to install once you find a compatible one.”

The offer seemed a little surreal. Orders or not, Delta Squad had been chasing them down not long ago and the relationship between the two groups was still a little shaky. “And you wouldn’t mind?”

Fixer finally seemed to get annoyed, brow drawing in just slightly, biting each word as he said them, “If you don’t want it-”

“I do,” Hunter said quickly and that mollified Fixer. “Thank you.”

Fixer’s eyes darted away for just a moment before he looked Hunter over. “Which arm do you want it on?”

He was fairly ambidextrous with both pistols and knives so he supposed it didn’t really matter. “Left.”

“Alright.” Fixer stood and moved to put his helmet back on and paused. He wrinkled his nose, peering inside, and Hunter couldn’t help thinking about how Tech hated people touching his armor- his helmet, especially -without his permission. Fixer must be the same way. But he put it on and Hunter felt a slight tingle as the HUD reactivated. “I’ll take care of it once we meet back with the others.” Then Fixer began to move on and Hunter joined him, hiding an anticipatory grin under his helmet.

4.

Had anyone asked a year ago Hunter would’ve snorted at the thought of helping out any dissidents, more concerned about protecting his little family than fighting the Empire. A few months ago if anyone suggested they’d be working so often with the group that had nearly broken that family he would’ve seriously contemplated decking someone. But, with the 99 dedicating themselves to helping out Rex, and Delta Squad- after finding their missing brother among their ranks -having thrown their lot in with the rebellion, the two groups found their goals aligning fairly regularly.

Their current target was an outpost just outside of the Empire that, at first glance, seemed insignificant but was starting to look increasingly like a staging ground for an imperial advance. Delta Squad was tasked with infiltrating to find what systems were being targeted and the 99 wanted information on where the clones that once manned the outpost had been transferred to. And whatever equipment ended up falling into their collective possession would be divvied up accordingly.

They mixed the teams before splitting up, because according to Sev, something something joint operations. Sev had been trying very hard to pass off any responsibilities he’d been given during the forming of the rebellion to Boss who repeatedly declined. Though he did step into his role as squad leader while on missions and as an advisor otherwise. Boss was the one that clarified Sev’s grumbled point as strengthening the ties between the rebel alliance and Rex’s network as well as ensuring one team wouldn’t abandon the other if they completed their mission first.

Not that Hunter thought Delta Squad would at this point but the insurance was nice. The commandos’ attitudes had changed drastically since reuniting with their lost brother. Scorch’s acerbic comments and short replies and ever present cold anger had made way for flippant jokes, audible grins and a relaxed air. This more charming version even managed to make friends of both Omega and Wrecker. Sev had, apparently, mellowed somewhat in his time working in the rebellion. Though he snapped and bristled, there was an underlying patience even in his sharpest words. Boss… well, the others found him stolid, thoughtful and always willing to offer advice when asked. Hunter seemed to be the only one that didn’t get along with him.

“Because he’s used to doing things his way, he hates the idea of someone else coming along and taking over,” Crosshair once observed before turning a lazy, sideways look to Hunter, “just like you.”

Hunter had bristled at the comment but he couldn’t exactly argue against it, either. He was willing to put up with a little friction with Boss if it meant working with Fixer.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was about Fixer that caught his attention. He generally stayed quiet unless asked a question or if his insight was needed. He was strictly professional with the 99 though he wasn’t cold. Maybe it was the way Fixer seemed to prefer to fade into the background, letting his more gregarious brothers draw all the attention while he worked in the shadows. Hunter couldn’t help taking great pleasure in bringing Fixer to the forefront whenever possible, watching the slight shift of his head as if surprised, every time, that someone remembered he was there. Or maybe it was because Hunter could feel Fixer watching him afterward, as if Hunter was a great mystery he hadn’t been able to puzzle out.

In any case, whenever a mission required them splitting into two groups, Boss always lead one and Hunter the other and Fixer- still the reliable and levelheaded second-in-command even without the rank -would be in Hunter’s group. This time around they were joined by Crosshair, Scorch and Omega, making their way to directly access the outpost’s databanks while the others raided the supplies and downloaded the manifests of the ships in the hangar. Both groups would be placing strategic charges to be blown after they left.

They’d run similar ops before. They probably should’ve expected they’d eventually run into a trap.

This close to such a concentration of electrical signals, Hunter nearly missed the sound of someone moving while Fixer sliced the security lock. Lots of someones. Too many to be a standard shift of technicians. The realization came to him a split second before the door whooshed open and he dove aside, pushing Omega back behind him. Two blaster bolts hit him in the pauldron, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Don’t shoot!” Fixer called to the team. “We can’t damage the database!”

“If you have an alternative that isn’t just sitting here, you’d better speak up,” Crosshair snipped back. He turned to look down the hall they’d just come out, ready to fire at anyone that attempted to flank them.

“I got this,” Scorch said, pulling a grenade from his belt. “Shield your eyes and get ready to charge in!” He called out, tossing the flashbang into the room. On its third bounce it exploded in blinding light. Some of the stormtroopers kept firing though their aim was even worse than usual but most were caught off guard, flinching back.

Hunter ran in first, Scorch and Fixer at his heels. “Fixer, take care of the ones closest to the consoles, Scorch and I will handle the rest. Crosshair, Omega-” he was cut off when a bolt splashed against the door- the second half of the trap arrived and Crosshair had already taken out two of them, “you know what to do.”

There were slightly more stormtroopers in the room than Hunter thought. It was an ego boost that the Empire considered them dangerous enough to require that much firepower but whoever set this up didn’t think too hard about how many stormtroopers could fit in a room before they started getting in each other’s way. Scorch fired his rifle in a sweep, sending a group of stormtroopers staggering as the bodies of their comrades fell against them and Scorch pressed his advantage. Hunter took a more up close route, taking out stormtroopers with pointblank shots of his dual pistols, always keeping someone between him and the stormtroopers trying to get a clear shot at him.

From his periphery he saw Fixer opted to go melee so close to the database, gauntlet blade locked into place. For all that his skills clearly outclassed any of his opponents’ Fixer was still having a harder time getting in debilitating blows and Hunter didn’t want to see if they had enough numbers to overwhelm him.

Putting a pistol away meant opening himself to a few blows but his armor was made to take hits. “Fixer!” The call was to alert him more than anything else and Hunter pulled his knife from its sheath and flung it across the room where it stuck into a stormtrooper’s neck, just as they were rearing back with a shock baton

Fixer grabbed the hilt, ripping the blade through the side of the neck. From there the commando was a whirl of movement and Hunter was transfixed. Fixer moved with an efficiency that was as elegant as it was brutal. Each strike was precise, blocking an attack that let him stab up into the armpit, ducking in to slash at the crease of thigh and hip. Fixer was moving too quick for the stormtroopers to react, always two steps ahead as if every move was already planned, like it was a dance with dual blades flashing and blood spraying out in arcs.

Being able to watch him fight was a fascination Hunter couldn’t appreciate when actually fighting him and Hunter didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.

There was a familiar presence against his shoulder just before he was forcefully spun around, Crosshair’s back against his and Hunter was reminded how many stormtroopers were still around. Three cracking shots rang out in quick succession, Crosshair barely able to swing his rifle around in such close quarters and he was forced to resort to his hand blaster. “Keep your head in the game, Hunter. Ogle him some other time.”

Hunter’s face burned beneath his helmet but he pulled his second pistol out again, focusing on the battle at hand. Crosshair and Omega had been pushed back as stormtroopers continued to fill the hall. Omega had found a little nook to crouch in, the stream of blaster fire too much for her to do more than stretch her arms around the corner to blindly fire. Hunter's own shots didn't do much more than prevent anyone from attempting to charge in.

“Hunter!” Scorch called out, slapping the anti-armor attachment to his DC-17. “Switch!”

Hunter pushed away from Crosshair, ducked around Scorch and began peppering the stormtroopers the commando had been holding back. Scorch stepped inside the doorway, his shield flashing blue as he was hit with blaster fire and he fired one grenade, then another before ducking back into cover to let his shield recharge. By the time the smoke had cleared there were only a few stormtroopers capable of still firing. Omega and Scorch picked them off easily and by then those still within the room were quickly mopped up.

They all took a moment to catch their breaths, waiting for the adrenaline to stop pulsing so heavy in their veins. Hunter checked with the other four, ensuring no one had been injured then clicked on the comm channel. “Boss, do you read?”

“/Did they get you with an ambush, too?/”

Well, that answered what was going to be Hunter’s first question. “Yeah, we just finished up.”

“/Same here. They got us right before we got to the supplies. We’ll do a quick grab and head back to the ship./”

“We still have to download the data, then we'll meet you there.”

Boss clicked off the channel and Hunter’s attention was pulled to Fixer as he came up, holding out Hunter’s knife handle first. “You remembered this time,” Hunter teased.

“It’s a quality knife,” Fixer said. “Good weight, well balanced.” But when Hunter grabbed the handle and tried to pull it away, Fixer’s grip didn’t lessen. His voice dropped, turning something dark and silky and Hunter wasn’t sure if he was hearing the hint of a smile in it or if it was wishful thinking. “That was an impressive throw.”

There was a jumble of words Hunter couldn’t seem to get out of his throat: “You were amazing.” “I could watch you move like that all day.” “I’m never going to get you out of my mind now.” The best he could manage was a croaked, “Thanks.”

Something brushed up against his knuckle and his skin prickled as he realized Fixer’s finger, whether on purpose or by accident, had hooked over his. “Maybe now that we’re not fighting each other, we could have a rematch.”

Hunter couldn’t get his answer out fast enough. “Yes.”

“You are not flirting right now,” Scorch cut in. “Stop it. Sev’ll never believe me.”

Crosshair sighed and Hunter instinctively knew exactly what his expression looked like. “I should’ve stayed on Pabu with Tech.” He had an arm wrapped around Omega, hand over her mouth, and Omega herself looked about ready to burst.

Fixer’s hand abruptly dropped and he moved back a step. Hunter did the same, clearing his throat. “Start downloading that info, the rest of us will pick a corridor to cover.” He turned away, nearly tripped over a console and corrected his direction, resolutely not looking at anyone.

The last thing he heard before leaving the room was Scorch saying, “Wow. I can’t believe this is happening.”

In the time it took Fixer to download the information there were only a few sporadic stormtroopers attempting to attack them. Likely they were regrouping to attack in force as they tried to leave. Fixer, deciding stealth was moot at this point, took control of the security system. He plotted out an alternate route and activated every blast shield that wouldn’t get in their way. As a bonus it allowed Boss’s group to detonate their explosives, destroying every ship that was still in the hangars. Escaping the outpost and getting back to their ship was even easier than getting in. The outpost was still exploding as they hit atmo.

Hunter and Boss went among their respective squadmates, ensuring everyone was unhurt. Though he’d already reconnected the 99’s vital readouts to his HUD, an automatic click of the teeth once they were in range, he still preferred to check in with them. Once they hit hyperspace, everyone settled in for the ride. Boss kept an eye on the instruments in the cockpit, Fixer and Echo pored over the data, copying over whatever was relevant. Crosshair took up the gunner position, just in case, going over his weapons and gear while it was quiet. Scorch, Wrecker and Omega were going through the spoils- though, judging from the talking and laughing, Hunter didn’t think they were getting that much done. Sev took over the seats just behind the cockpit, cleaning and maintaining his squadmates’ firearms. Hunter acknowledged him with a nod then took a seat opposite him, pulling out his knife. Blood nearly coated the entirety of the blade and Hunter took out a cleaning kit, wiping off the parts that were still wet before flaking what had already dried.

He couldn’t help running that fight through his head. Or at least what he saw of Fixer’s. He’d known that first gen commandos were on a different level than the rank and file the 99 had met. The four of them reminded Hunter more of Fennec Shand than they did a reg, moving more with a hunter’s glide than they did a trooper’s march. And the way Fixer wielded Hunter’s knife… it was like he was made for it, so sure, so fluid. Just the memory had Hunter’s pulse speed up.

Hunter wouldn’t deny that he’d had an interest in Fixer before- a mild thing, he preferred Fixer to the rest of Delta and found his vast array of knowledge and skill intriguing -but something about that fight had pushed Hunter’s emotions over an edge. Hunter was no longer just interested, he was fascinated. He wondered if Scorch was being serious. That Fixer had been flirting. Was it possible that Fixer had an interest as well or was Hunter just projecting? How would he even broach the subject? And if he was, what would-

“You keep that up you’re not gonna have much of a knife.”

Sev’s gravelly voice broke through Hunter’s thoughts. His body had gone through the motions without conscious thought, pulling out his whet stone, wetting it with water from his canteen until the surface had been fully saturated and scraping his knife across the surface with the same angle and pressure he always had. Nearly everyone that had ever seen him sharpen his knife scoffed at him using such an old fashion method when the modern way was so much quicker and easier but Hunter liked the control he had with a stone. Now, though, he had no idea how many times he’d been sharpening this one side- obviously long enough for Sev to feel compelled to say something but that didn’t mean much.

Hunter cast a quick glance at Sev who had turned back to reassembling a hand blaster. Didn’t mean he was no longer paying attention to what Hunter was doing but he was probably the least likely to stick his nose in anyone's business. Grimacing to himself, Hunter held his blade up to peer down the edge and- blast it all -one side had been noticeably grounded down further than the other. Biting back a curse, Hunter set about to rectify that, resolutely not letting his thoughts wander this time.

The trip back to the port that they’d left from took several hours more than necessary as they jumped from one hyperspace lane to another, zigzagging to shake anyone that might’ve been tailing them without notice. It still seemed too quick for Hunter when it was announced that they were touching down. His thoughts about Fixer and his own feelings were still a tangled mess, not even bristling as Boss ordered Hunter’s crew in divvying up the stolen equipment.

They were about to part ways. Everyone was saying their farewells and getting in parting banter and Fixer was beginning to walk away and Hunter didn’t know when they’d see each other again and before he could stop himself he shouted, “Fixer!” Hunter froze just as all of Delta Squad and his own team turned to look at him because Hunter had no idea what he was going to say. He grasped at anything before, in something almost approaching panic, he went with a vague idea he had just before they landed. He composed himself as he’d been taught, putting on an air of confidence he absolutely did not feel and approached Fixer, pulling his knife- sheath and all -from his belt. “Here. Keep it.”

That surprised the rest of the 99 as much as it did Fixer. “I can’t take your weapon,” there was no conviction in either his voice or his expression.

“You looked too good with it not to have it. Consider it a souvenir,” he said with a wink and much more bravado than his nerves were currently capable of.

Fixer just stared at him, looking dumbfounded and if it weren’t for the subtle shift in his scent or the rise of color in his cheeks, Hunter would’ve thought he’d made a fool of himself. But Fixer grabbed the knife with an uncustomarily hesitant hand, mouth moving soundlessly until he worked out a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Sev’s helmed head tilted to one side, utterly bewildered. “Your heart rate just skyrocketed. The hell did we miss?”

Fixer jammed his helmet over his head and walked to Delta’s ship in very quick strides. Boss shook his head before following- Hunter could’ve sworn he chuckled as he did so -and Scorch elbowed Sev as they went, “See? I told you!”

Hunter ignored his own team and locked himself in the Marauder’s refresher until if felt like his heart was no longer in danger of exploding.

Days later Omega was happily updating Tech on what they’d been up to on their weekly check-in call, the rest of the team nearby to add in their commentary when needed. When she explained how their mission with Delta ended, there was a long silence and Hunter could see Tech in his mind, eyes narrow and gears turning in his head.

“/You’ve never liked others using your weapons,/” Tech eventually said, tone almost accusatory.

When the others turned him with knowing expressions, Hunter felt his face heat up. He said, with minimal stuttering, “He knows how to handle my knife.” Then he promptly slapped a hand to his face.

Wrecker and Echo burst out in laughter, Crosshair rolled his eyes with his most put upon sigh and Omega, thankfully, didn’t seem to understand the inadvertent innuendo. Tech’s voice was far too amused, “/I’m sure he does./”

5.

Their paths didn’t cross often. Between Delta assisting the rebellion, reconnecting with their trainers on Mandalore and keeping the Empire’s bounty hunters off their trail, they didn’t have a lot of free time. And with the 99’s own work with Rex, helping whatever clone they came across and evading their own bounty hunters, if they managed to meet up with Delta Squad outside of missions it would last a day at most. More often there was only a few hours that could be spared, meeting up to chat, generally over food and drinks.

Food stalls lined just about every inch of this port and the only way to make everyone happy at a place like this was to split up and get food from wherever they wanted. Hunter and Wrecker were pretty easy when it came to food though their first choice usually fell under: looks like meat, smells like meat and was roasted over a fire. Crosshair wasn’t picky either but if the sanitation standard didn’t meet his, he wouldn’t eat- if he wasn’t out in the field, he didn’t want to eat like he was. They all wanted to make sure Omega was getting the proper nutrition required for a girl her age and everyone accepted long ago that Echo’s digestion was permanently karked from his time as a Separatists prisoner.

Just after they’d gotten their food and regrouped they got a call from Delta Squad, stopping by to pick up some supplies and refuel when they saw the Marauder at the same dock. They arranged to meet up and the 99 found a corner of the marketplace to take over, eating and ribbing each other as they waited for Delta to join them.

It didn’t take too long. Scorch led the way and when he spotted them he held up a hand holding a bag. “Hey, we came bearing gifts for our poor, malnourished vode!”

Omega happily jumped up to grab the bag. Her nose wrinkled as she inspected the contents. “Fruit?”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure you get all your vitamins and whatnot so you don’t end up all sallow and shriveled like Crosshair.”

The sniper in question sneered, teeth grinding on a kebab stick. “I’ll be shooting you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scorch just waved the threat off. “You’re planning to shoot me about a dozen times. Still waiting for that to happen.”

“It’ll happen when you least expect it.”

“Meaning when he thinks he can get away with it,” Boss said with wry amusement. “Which won’t be any time soon.”

“I'd let him get away with about five bullets.” Sev grabbed a handful of the mix Wrecker offered up- roasted seeds and puffed grains tossed in spices.

That was all background noise to Hunter the moment he spotted Fixer- shoulders not quite as proudly set as Boss’s, the angle of his head not as stubborn as Sev’s, gait with less of Scorch’s swagger, everything just a little more subdued than his brothers -and Hunter’s eyes zeroed in to his thigh where a familiar knife sat, dark against the well worn white of his armor. The sight of it made Hunter’s heart beat just a little quicker.

There weren’t too many places to sit but the area they’d chosen had plenty of spots to lean against or prop their weight on. The ledge Hunter had picked probably wasn’t made for two humans, especially in armor, but he slid to one side anyway and tried not to smile too much when Fixer took the open space. Hunter pulled off some of his flat bread, pinching it around a chunk of meat and sopped up the thick sauce. He passed it to Fixer as he pulled off his helmet, hooking it to his belt.

“What is it?” Fixer asked, even as he popped it into his mouth.

“Think it’s some sort of subterranean rodent in a nut sauce.”

He hummed, stretching a leg out casually, pressing against Hunter’s from ankle to knee. “Good choice.”

Voice having gone dry, Hunter could only grin and held his food in the hand closest to Fixer, silent permission to have more if he liked. He quietly thanked whatever omniscient being was out there that he’d never been much of a socializer because Hunter could barely follow the conversation going on around him. Whenever he or Fixer shifted or anything happened to make him aware of Fixer’s leg against his- and he was incredibly aware of it -Hunter seemed to forget that anything else existed. He couldn’t feel Fixer’s leg, their armor didn’t give him any sensation other than the pressure of solid weight pushing against him. Just like he became hyperfocused when they bumped into each other with pauldrons or elbows, the clacking of plate against plate making his breath catch in his chest.

He wondered if this was normal. The 99’s trainers were only there for training, outside of that they only dealt with the Kaminoam scientists, sometimes other clones who cared little to interact with them- or vice versa -and, on occasion, Shaak Ti. They had been, Hunter had realized in the days following the fall of the Republic, woefully unprepared for life outside of war, for life outside of missions. Though they’d gotten more experience in that field, there were still huge gaps in what natborns would consider common knowledge. Was this what attraction was like? Hunter wondered if there was a way to talk to Phee about this without wanting to die from embarrassment at his own ignorance. Maybe Tech would-

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Scorch pulled the food carton- empty -from Hunter’s hand and replaced it with a meiloorun. “If you’ve been zoning out like that it’s a good thing we brought these. Lots of vitamin D and the seeds are high in magnesium. Help clear out that brain fog.” Though, from the slant of Scorch’s grin, he knew very well that Hunter’s distractedness had nothing to do with lacking nutrition.

Hunter grumbled out something that could be taken as a thank you. Out of habit he reached for his belt before remembering there was no longer a knife there.

“You hadn’t gotten a replacement yet,” Fixer observed and if Hunter weren’t so used to the subtle inflections in Tech’s voice, he would’ve missed the coy amusement in Fixer’s.

“Hadn’t found one good enough for my tastes,” Hunter said, lips quirking in a grin. Which was partly true. But it was also true that Hunter kind of liked the flash of warmth he felt whenever he became aware of the empty space on his belt and knowing Fixer held the missing piece.

“Well. I might have something you’ll like.” Fixer reached toward his pack and pulled out a box, holding it out for Hunter to take, taking the meiloorun in turn.

He opened it up and, in contrast to the plain, utilitarian exterior, the interior was soft and plush. Cradled to one side was a sheath, triangular in shape and engraved on the sides. The other side held a knife, the likes of which Hunter hadn’t seen before: three blades, dark black with burnished silver edges, that swirled in one long twist to meet at the tip like a hunting knife. Hunter’s jaw dropped, absolutely speechless.

“One of the commando training sergeants had one like that. I was able to find a reputable blacksmith to commission something similar.”

“This is- Fixer, I can’t accept this. This must’ve cost you a fortune!” Distantly Hunter was aware the rest of his team was looking over his shoulder because he could hear gasps and interested oo’s.

Fixer gave his little huffed laugh. “It’s a gift. It’s suppose be indulgent.”

“It’s too much.” Hunter’s hand hovered over it, almost afraid to even touch it. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You gave me your knife. You shouldn’t be without a backup weapon.”

“You made me a blade for my gauntlet.” He pushed the box back towards Fixer. “You should keep it.”

The soft smile fell from Fixer’s face, turning into something that wasn’t quite confusion. “Did you want your knife back?”

Behind Fixer, just loud enough for Hunter alone to hear, Scorch said, “Just accept it. You don’t know how long he agonized over what to get you.”

Looking back at Fixer’s face, Hunter could see a tightness in his brow and the corner of his lips, something shuttering behind his eyes like he was preparing to be hurt. “Thank you,” Hunter said and when Fixer blinked, the shutters vanished. “This is… it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me…” He trailed off, a painful realization that he’d never really been given anything before. Not without an ulterior motive, at least. Instead he laughed, pulling the dagger out to see how the light played over it. “It’s almost too pretty to use.”

Fixer’s shoulders relaxed. “It behaves a little differently than a standard knife. I can show you.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Hunter stood and attached the sheath to his belt, checking it if might interfere with his movement or any of his other gear. The two groups moved through the market, picking up supplies and maybe some additional snacks but all that was a bit of a blur. Hunter couldn’t stop looking down at his knife, adjusting his belt just to feel its weight shifting, touching the handle. It didn’t feel real in a way he couldn’t articulate, as if all of this was some elaborate scenario his mind and if he didn’t make sure it was there, it would vanish like it never happened.

He hung toward the back, hoping his fidgeting wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention but Fixer matched his pace and there was no way he could miss it. They walked just within each other’s periphery, close enough that avoiding someone meant their arms brushed and Hunter’s fingers twitched every time, just stopping himself from grabbing Fixer’s hand. Every now and again he saw Fixer’s helmet tilt and Hunter desperately wanted to know what that meant, if he was smiling underneath it.

Hunter’s attention broke away from Fixer just once, long enough to stop Wrecker from trying to sneak a pack of ryshcate into a purchase of otherwise bland but shelf-stable rations. In another situation Hunter wouldn’t have bothered but not with the mark up the merchant was selling it at.

Eventually the group made their way to the port, Scorch indulging Omega in trying to guess the type of shuttle Delta Squad had arrived in this time. Stealing shuttles seemed to be a habit of theirs. Imperial ones, mostly. They said they knew some people that would strip the shuttle of anything trackable, redo all the wiring and, if they didn’t need it for infiltration for their own cause, sell it to some rebel cell to use. This time around it was actually from an upstart gang who talked a big game but merely terrorized local trading routes. Unfortunately for them the vessel they chose to sack happened to have Delta Squad on it who dealt with the boarders swiftly and then took over their ship for good measure. It was far too big to justify using for four people but there was plenty of salvageable parts in it. Boss took Echo on board to see if there were any non-essential parts that could be used for the Marauder while the others took up positions under its belly. Mostly to heckle or enjoy watching Hunter get his ass handed to him, he was sure, but at least he had Omega to cheer him on.

The three-bladed knife wasn’t significantly different from a standard knife. Slashing with it wasn’t as awkward as Hunter feared though if he wanted a deeper slice he’d have to get used to twisting his wrist with the movement. Stabbing was more effective which meant it wasn’t as agile as his old knife but the configuration made the blade both significantly heavier and stronger which meant it could block harder blows from heavier weapons without threat of damage. It also meant it would take some practice before Hunter could throw it with precision.

Fixer took him through some of the standard forms that had been taught on Kamino, demonstrating how they’d change to accommodate for the new knife's design. Then, when he’d been satisfied with Hunter’s progress, they began to spar. Slow at first, blades clashing together only a few times before they’d reset until Hunter felt comfortable. As the knife felt more and more like an extension of his arm, Hunter began to move faster, the rounds getting longer until they were nearly dueling. There were no offhand attacks, no feints or disabling moves. It was all about their blades, the way they sang as they connected; it was about movement as they went back and forth and around one another; it was about that moment, sweat on their brows and the burn in their muscles. Neither had worn their helmets and Hunter would admit he had a hard time looking away from Fixer’s grin but Fixer’s eyes were locked on to him, too. Hunter felt alive in a way he never had before and he never wanted it to end, just wanted to stay in that patch of the docking bay with Fixer in front of him and all the people he cared about around him.

But Boss eventually called out that they needed to get on their way and the two broke off from their spar. The exertion finally caught up with them and both had to sit on the ground by the ship’s landing gear to catch their breaths, Hunter with his head leaning back against a strut, Fixer with his arms braced against his knees. Still pulling in deep breaths, Hunter let his head lull to the side and found that Fixer’s eyes were already on him with the softest look he’d ever seen. Hunter couldn’t help grinning and Fixer grinned back and there were so many things Hunter wanted to say. He wanted to reach out and touch Fixer’s hand, brush back the hair sticking to his face, wanted to lean in so close they were breathing the same air, to hear if their hearts were racing in time.

All he could do was say, “Thanks.” When Fixer smiled, so sweet and warm, Hunter had the wild urge to kiss him. Instead he stood up, bid his farewells, ignored Scorch’s lascivious remarks, and rejoined the rest of 99 to head to where the Marauder sat.

Were he in any other mood Hunter would’ve been appalled at how useless he was for the rest of the day. The others didn’t seem surprised or bothered by the fact Hunter couldn’t seem to do anything but admire his new knife. Crosshair and Echo took care of the pre-flight checks and taking them up through atmo and Wrecker made sure everything that needed strapping down was. Hunter just sat somewhere out of the way, spinning the knife in his hand and admiring how the light played over the twist of the blades, thinking about the way Fixer smiled just before they parted.

He sighed, finally sliding the knife into its sheath. Pulling out the cushioning from the box he found a sharpening and maintenance kit stowed in the cavity beneath. He looked them over and, halfway through the instructions, felt someone sliding into the space next to him.

“Sooooo?” Omega drawled out before Hunter even acknowledged her. “When are you going to tell him you like him? And don’t try to pretend you don’t,” she said with a sternness that was part mocking, part real. “You’ve never looked at anyone the way you look at Fixer.”

He let out a soft laugh, perhaps a touch more self-consciously than he’d intended. “I wouldn’t know how to say it.”

“You do, too! I know you watch over Wrecker and my shoulders when we’ve got a soap playing!”

Because there wasn’t much else to do when flying through hyperspace for hours on end. He and Crosshair would bitch at each other over the characters’ idiocy afterward. “I’m pretty sure soap operas do things in the worst possible way to maximize drama.”

Omega rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. You still need to tell him, though.”

Hunter turned to Omega, an elbow braced against one knee, chin propped up in his hand and amusement clear in his expression. “Alright. Do you have any ideas that’s not from a soap?”

She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. After a moment, she said, “No, but I bet Phee would.”

Yeah. Judging by the way Tech got constantly flustered whenever she was brought up, Hunter agreed. “Guess we’ll swing by Pabu when we get some free time.”

6.

The talk with Phee- and Shep -had been illuminating and also made Hunter aware that he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He wasn’t sure any clone did though whether that was genetic or a result of their upbringing was unclear. Though maybe it was more accurate to say they weren’t traditionally romantic. Phee pointed out, from what she knew of the 99 and Tech in particular, that while clones might not do candy and flowers and other ultimately superfluous things, they would do anything in their power to ensure those they cared about were protected. Hunter’s new knife was top tier in quality- it was beskar of all things! -the kind of knife that lasted lifetimes and was made to be passed down generations.

“Just do stuff for him. Take care of him.” Phee said, hands on her canted hips and Hunter couldn’t help noticing she had a new arm guard, metal and thick enough it had to hide at least one weapon of some sort. “Let him know, no matter what happens, you’ve got his back.”

To do that, however, they’d need more than the ‘just passing by’ encounters they’ve been having with Delta Squad. If this worked out, Hunter wanted to spend as much time with Fixer as he could. If it didn’t, they could just leave early if things were awkward enough.

They ended up finishing a job a system away from the latest outpost Delta Squad went to and decided, with no pressing business to attend to, they could afford to stay for a few days. When they reached out to Sev, he grumbled and made a show of being far too busy to deal with them before transmitting a passcode to land.

It took them several hours to arrive, time that Hunter spent pacing the Marauder’s limited space until Wrecker came back, looped an arm around his neck and sat him down. “You’ll be fine,” he said gruffly. “You’re the only one that can get him to smile.”

Hunter’s grin was shaky, consciously keeping his fingers from drumming against his thighs. “You think so?”

Wrecker’s laugh reverberated through the ship, a heavy slap to Hunter’s back nearly sending him to the floor. “You kidding? We were about to start making bets on you two!”

Hunter did his best to bolster his own optimism with Wrecker’s and when they landed and found Fixer waiting for them on the landing pad, Hunter didn’t know if he wanted to break out in laughter or throw up.

Fixer stood there with the shadow of a grin. He’d removed parts of his armor, left only in boots, chestplate, vambraces and gauntlets, wearing an obviously secondhand jacket, blaster on his belt and Hunter’s knife at his thigh. “Good to see you again, 99.”

Everyone gaped. “What happened to your voice?” Omega asked.

Fixer’s hand flew up to his throat where a metal collar speckled with lights sat, color rising to his cheeks. “Oh, sorry. I tend to forget about it. We’ve taken to using voice changers to make it easier for the natborn to differentiate between us.” His eyes lingered on Hunter. “I can turn it off if it bothers you.”

Sensing his teammates turning to him, Hunter stepped down to the landing pad and up to Fixer. The collar was padded on the inside, an easy release clasp near the front. He reached up and ran his finger against the edge of the collar and watched the way Fixer’s throat moved as he swallowed. When Hunter looked up, Fixer’s eyes were focused solely on him and a tingle ran down Hunter’s spine.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Hunter finally said, “but I think it suits you.”

Fixer smiled, eyes lowering and flush deepening. “Thanks.” His voice wasn’t as husky, pitched slightly lower but it was the same accent and same smooth cadence Hunter was familiar with. “I kind of like it.” He cleared his throat, stepped back and addressed the others as they approached. “I’ll show you to a spare room. The base is still being constructed so there’s not a lot available to see but there’s a village nearby. They have an extensive market if you’d like to go.”

“Will the others be joining us?” Echo asked. Then, after looking at the others milling around in soft clothes, “Should we leave our armor behind?”

“If you want. At most it’ll get you attention, but that’s it. Sev will join us later but Boss and Scorch took some people out for training and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

Glances were exchanged and suddenly everyone was talking over each other:

“I want to see the market. Come on, Wrecker, I saw it while we were landing!”

“I think I’ll find Sev. I have some intel to pass on from Rex.”

“I’ll go with you, make sure he's not slacking on security.”

And, just like that, the two were left alone. Hunter barely kept from slapping a hand to his face. Fixer just watched him, not bothering to mask the amusement in his eyes. “They can make their own excuses,” Hunter said, “I don’t know the reason behind every time they get weird.” He did this time, but the excuse was still technically true.

“I suppose not. Did you want me to show you the room?”

“You got time for a tour, instead?” Hunter asked with- what he hoped was -a charming grin.

Fixer’s smile finally reached his lips and Hunter thought about what Wrecker said. Fixer always smiled with his eyes first, gaze softening, warming, a slight curve to the shape. Then the ridged line of his shoulders would relax, a tiny movement, followed by an angling of his head giving the illusion of the corners of his lips turning upward. His lips were the last thing to smile. But everything else was so subtle that anyone that didn’t know him well- or had eyes as sharp as Hunter’s -would miss it. “Alright.”

By the time Hunter finished locking up the Marauder and setting its security, Fixer was already beginning to move toward the port gate. Hunter hung back for just a moment. It was a pity Fixer’s outfit included civilian trousers instead of form fitting blacks but with the blaster holstered on one side and knife on the other, he was still framed quite nicely.

Fixer decided to head into town. With the base under construction going there for a tour would just be getting in the workers’ way. Instead of going down the main road, however, Fixer took Hunter on what he called the scenic route and Hunter would not have argued with that assessment. It had been difficult to see from the air with the thick canopy of leaves and branches but the town was built on a combination of rock and giant mangrove roots which essentially divided the town into two levels: the lower level was on the water, full of floating docks and boats moving in an organized chaos. The upper level was a crisscross of bridges connecting from trunk to trunk. Unlike Kashyyk where their buildings were built around the trees, here the trees had been dug into and, in some cases, straight through. The bark that made up the walls and doorways were carved into arches or detailed murals.

More than once Hunter stopped to just look at everything, enjoying the feel of the breeze, the sharp scent of lush greens and aromatic wood, hearing the chatter of people around them and waves below. Fixer stayed at his side and when he wasn’t pointing out things of interest to Hunter, he was silent with an air of contentment. One time Hunter nearly dangled half his body over a railing, watching as one of the larger boats sailed between mangroves. It was decked out in flowers, a small band on top playing music and singing loudly while colorfully dressed people danced on the prow. Every other boat moved out of its way and cheers and shouts went up as the large boat passed.

When Hunter finally pushed himself upright and turned to Fixer, the question he was about to ask died on his lips. Fixer was looking at him with that same sweet, warm smile that Hunter kept tucked in his memories and Hunter, unprepared for it, looked back down at the boat, surprised by his own bashful nerves. Taking a moment to gather himself, Hunter asked, “Do you know what that was about?”

“It’s a wedding boat.” Fixer said, the low, even tone of his voice at odds with the softness in his expression. “I don’t know the exact details of the ceremony but the newlyweds sail around the town playing music.”

They stood, watching the boat until it disappeared behind a root. Daringly, Hunter took Fixer by the hand and Fixer looked down at their joined hands like he was having difficulty processing what just happened. “C’mon,” Hunter grinned, giving his hand a tug. “Looks like the sun’s starting to go down. I want to grab some ingredients for dinner before folks start packing up.”

“The market doesn’t actually close after dark.” But Fixer allowed himself to be pulled along anyway, lips quirked in a faint grin. “Honestly I prefer this place at night. There’s bioluminescent fungi on the trees and at this time of year there’s also bioluminescent plankton in the water.”

“You’ll have to show me that some time.”

Fixer’s hand squeezed his. “Of course.”

The market was a bit of a crowded affair but Hunter already had an idea of the things he wanted. Fixer took him to the merchants he knew of and they, in turn, pointed the two towards other merchants for the things they didn’t sell. It was a fairly quick shopping trip which was fortunate as, just as they began to leave, more people came into the market, likely looking to buy things for their own dinners. As the crowd grew thicker and Hunter began to tense from the overwhelming sounds and smells, Fixer took his hand again and pulled them into a side street. It was a little narrow and when Fixer stopped and turned to Hunter he still didn’t drop his hand.

“You okay?”

Hunter grinned, squeezing Fixer’s hand. “No problem.” He held up his bag of goods. “Hope you have a kitchen I can use. Or at least a place to build a fire.”

“We have… I suppose you can call it a kitchen. If it doesn’t work, I know some people with actual kitchens.”

Fixer led the way and, even though they were able to avoid any crowds, their hands stayed clasped together. When Hunter brushed a finger against the inside of Fixer’s wrist, he could feel the pace of his heartbeat nearly matched his own.

Delta Squad’s house was practically one large room, a small area in the back to prepare and store food, a ‘fresher door and two small rooms. One was just big enough to fit two cots and the other was likely meant to do that same but was instead filled with gear and weapons. The majority of the room was a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in the corner that had the best sightlines and protection from whatever might come in through the door. The only real pieces of furniture were four chairs situated around a table. There were remnants of projects on it- a busted sniper scope, some tools Hunter recognized as similar to what Wrecker used when putting together explosives, and something that looked a like a gauntlet.

He paused at the sight. It was quite small. When Hunter reached out to pick it up, the entirety fit within his palm. Much like…

“What’s this?” He asked, trying to keep his heart from jumping to conclusions.

He could practically hear Fixer freezing up. “That… I was….” From the corner of Hunter’s eye, he saw Fixer bite down on his lower lip. Right where that old scar cut through. “That’s for Omega.”

Hunter twisted the gauntlet and heard a mechanism sliding forward. “You’re making her a gauntlet blade.”

“Yes.” Fixer said simply, an almost mullish sound trying to mask his embarrassment. “I wanted to make it adjustable so it wouldn’t need to be replaced as she grew, but there’s stability issues I still need to work out.”

Hunter set the gauntlet back down and he didn’t know what expression was on his face but when he turned to Fixer it made him flush a dusty pink that nearly had Hunter crossing the room to touch it. Clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the food they’d picked up, Hunter teased, “She’ll love it. Even if you didn’t run it by her buir first.”

The sound Fixer made was a cross between a chuckle and a cough. “It’s more for my peace of mind- our peace of mind.” His tone lightened into a dry drawl he used whenever he was comfortable joking. “I figured you’d be happy just being able to teach her how to use it.”

“Believe me, I’m already thinking up drills I’m going to run her through. But I think Omega would like you to teach her the basics. She likes learning from you.”

Fixer stilled again and by now Hunter had been around Delta Squad often enough to notice it was something the four of them did whenever someone brought attention to even their smallest acts of compassion. As if the commandos didn’t realize they were capable of such things and it broke Hunter’s heart a little whenever he saw it. Made him want to take Fixer’s face in his hands and tell him just how thoughtful and warm and wholehearted Hunter thought he was. And to find whoever made Fixer doubt his capacity for kindness and beat them to within an inch of their life.

Wanting to distract himself from the dark turn of thoughts, Hunter made his way into what could generously be called the kitchen. There was a cutting board, a small stack of chipped and mismatched dishes, a hot plate, batter pots and pans and four dented GAR issued metal cups.

“We don’t have potable water,” Fixer said. “If you need some, there’s a well nearby I’ll have to draw it from.”

“That’s a good idea. I won’t need much to cook with, but it’ll be good to have some on hand to drink.” He still had a few powdered flavor sachets in his pouch. Omega started using them after getting bored drinking plain water on the Marauder and the others quickly grew to appreciate them, as well.

Fixer having to go out was actually something of a relief. Though Hunter had been mostly confident in his ability to make this dish, actually doing it- and not for practice -brought about a fresh wave of nerves. Without Fixer there, he felt less self-conscious about taking his time, laying out all the ingredients so he knew what needed to be done.

The merchant had offered to wash the leafy greens before bagging them so Hunter roughly chopped them and thinly sliced a citrus fruit, setting them aside in a bowl. He poured a generous dollop of oil and sprinkled some of the spice mixture Shep had given to him, tossing everything until all the greens were coated. There were some root vegetables that needed to be peeled, then sliced and set to cook in a pan with some oil. Those would take the longest to soften up and, according to the farmer who sold them, the slow cooking would bring out the natural sweetness.

It was about that time that Fixer had returned carrying a large container almost half the size of his torso, a spigot at the bottom. On Hunter’s request, he filled one of the larger bowls with water and washed the remainder of the vegetables. When he asked if there was anything else he could do, Hunter declined. Left to his own devices, Fixer began tidying up the place which mostly consisted of folding up and stacking the components that made up Delta’s nest.

“If that’s where you sleep,” Hunter called out, chopping up herbs in preparation for a sauce, “why the cots?”

“In case someone needs some space.”

“Didn’t realize I missed being able to pile up with my brothers until I saw that.” Mostly when they’d been younger, when their abilities made them feel less special and more like the experiments they were created to be.

“I imagine the Marauder would make that difficult.” A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the sounds of Hunter mixing the sauce together and Fixer continuing to clean. Once Fixer deemed the place presentable, he leaned against the corner of the table and watched as Hunter began to dice the vegetables, following the movement of the knife in Hunter's hand. Eventually Fixer asked, though it was clear from his tone it wasn't entirely a question, “Are you sure that’s going to be enough for everyone?”

It almost felt like stepping onto a ledge and preparing to jump off, only worse. Hunter knew what to expect from jumping off ledges. “I’m not cooking for everyone. Just us.”

There was a long stretch of silence and then Fixer asked uncertainly, “Is this a date?”

His nerves ratcheted even higher though his hands remained steady, continuing to cut the vegetables the way Shep had showed him. “What makes you say that?” He was proud that his voice didn’t waver.

“Cooking is commonly used as an expression of affection and it’s just the two of us.”

“It can be if you want it to be.”

He heard Fixer crossing the small room with careful, measured steps. When he stood just out of reach behind Hunter he asked with a softness to his voice that made Hunter’s breath hitch, “What do you want it to be?”

He didn’t mean for his words to come out almost like a whisper but he was just so aware of Fixer. “You already know.”

Another pause of silence. Then Fixer stepped forward, close enough for Hunter to feel the heat coming off him and to breathe in that subtle, sweet shift in his scent. Fingers brushed against Hunter’s hip, just the tips, then a slight pressure until Fixer’s hand laid tentatively against him, its warmth was impossible to ignore.

Hunter was grateful he had work to focus on because he had no idea what he would’ve done with the sudden burst of restless energy that coursed through him. He scraped the diced vegetables into a bowl and wiped off the cutting board before pulling the chilled fish onto it. “You don’t have to stand there.” He hoped his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

In response, Fixer moved closer, brushing against the hair that lay at Hunter’s shoulders and if Hunter closed his eyes he was certain he’d be able to hear Fixer’s heart racing in time with his own. “I’d like to, if you don’t mind. I like watching you handle a knife.”

Hunter couldn’t help smiling, leaning back until he could feel Fixer’s chest against his shoulders.